The butterfly is strapping on a bullet-proof
vest. The trees are scraping stars off the
sky. The sun is in peril from the wounds it
baked into the earth. The sea is being
sucked into rivers and back into clouds.
There will be upheaval. When you have
been stretched as far as you can allow, the
ricochet will not be subtle. Recoil gathers
the mutant seeds of anarchy. Viva la
revolución. When the time comes, all that
will be left is a question waiting between
you and your mirror. Resurrection is not
just faith, is it? Look behind you, the
universe is undressing slowly in your bed.
How will you prove your love tonight?